Snow, Unintended Meanness, and Hope

Two days ago it snowed in New Orleans for the first time since 2004. The kids were, expectedly, out-of-control. Racing to the windows, despite orders to stay seated- nearly crawling (and falling!) out of them, stretching hands out to touch the big wet flakes. "Is it snow?" they screamed. "What is snow? Is it ice? Can we go make snowballs?" It was like a drug had been suddenly dispersed around the room. Everyone was insane.
I made a deal with them that they could go look out the window, and we would spend 10-15 minutes just talking about snow, then we had to get back to work. They excitedly agreed, but instructions not to push were disregarded and one girl took off her belt and started hitting the other kids with it. She was indignant when she saw I was writing her up. "I was just playing!"
About forty-minutes into the snow-induced chaos, I was desperate to get them to finish their essays. Some of them were still working on tests and the rest had rough-drafts due at the end of the period. Exams are next week. Crunch time.
"I know it's exciting!" I yelled over the yelling, "But it's just snow. Get over it." As their appalled retorts shot back from all across the room, I immediately regretted the comment. How have I become such a cynical adult? Most of these kids have only seen snow once before in their lives- and some of them have never seen it at all. My NW new-teacher perspective was throwing me all out of whack.
Yesterday was pretty good- the kids were generally tired and therefore relatively calm (only one desk overturned in horseplay). A book-fairy of a man I met at a mid-city bar one evening after a bicycle ride dropped off 60 BRAND NEW books for my class library. Three that I read middle-schoolers somewhereoranother had voted as books they wish were required reading in schools. I was beaming as I wrote numbers inside the jackets and stacked them on my pretty-empty, slanting shelves. During my fifth period at least 5 excited kids checked out books. (I am crossing my fingers that no parents throw a fit because the Sherman Alexie book uses some swearing and mentions masturbation. Meh- I'll take it as it comes.)
Went to a TFA party last night at the Children's Museum. It reminded me of high school. Except for the Sutter Home in plastic cups. Chatted briefly. Danced in our seats while driving home. Tonight we're watching the Sex in the City movie- and one week from today I'm flying home.
Everything is going to be alright.